


Butterfly

by Zb94



Category: Topp Dogg (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zb94/pseuds/Zb94





	Butterfly

Hansol loved butterflies. They were effortless and free when they fluttered in springtime breeze, zig zagging erratically but maintaining easy grace. They were gentle and colorful, always breathtaking- even the most mundane strains of the species that bore a royal crest of orange and brown would leave him grinning when they planted a ticklish kiss on his nose. They were sugary sweet, which is, he thought, maybe how they kept their energy, and he was more than happy to oblige their sweet tooth. 

He couldn't help thinking, from where he sat in the park, a calm overseer of the obscene antics his friends managed to find in even such simplistic circumstances, that Byungjoo was a vivacious embodiment of the butterflies that were so adored. He would zip and turn unpredictably, floating on the weightlessness one was bound to feel when exposed to that grin. The erratic beelines he always traveled in were unforgettably noted with an effortless sort of beauty. Like the butterflies, he could hold the eye of anyone regardless of the colors he bore; whether it be stage dress- calculated and constructed until it bordered on near perfection- or the lazy remnants of leftover ensamble he could throw together on laundry day. It was pulled off by his delicate features and the way they opposed his amplified personality, a juxtaposition that left valleys of opportunity for free expression. 

Byungjoo's colors bouncing and weaving in the sunlight's rays held a mesmerizing quality in Hansol's eyes, drawing him in until he'd fallen entirely into the familiar glazed-over semiconsciousness of a daydream. In the conscious dreamscape, he was coddled in a swath of heat, the sweltering bubble of burning exhaustion following what felt like the millionth run through of an incomplete choreography. It was a vivid memory, the shutter on his internal camera having snapped it into recollection only a night prior, and his mind's eye could clearly see the immortalized image of Byungjoo, red faced but grinning. He'd always seemed to become invigorated by the intensity of practices- never faltering, but instead exhuming a static electricity of bright inspiration. It was with a gleam of sweat on tan skin that his radiance really started to shine, a golden beacon emboldened by the infallible happiness his face expressed. The tinge of red on his cheeks was assumed to be a side effect of motion, but when he stepped close Hansol could see a flicker of doubt shadow across those brown eyes, a swirl of thought thrashing in depths of smooth cognac. 

It started up the clockwork that ticked between Hansol's temples, left him questioning what this free natured person's thoughts could possibly be chained up by. Despite the insecurity hiding in Byungjoo's eyes, that smile remained- albiet softened. For once, he was wordless. The typical fizzle of energy that surrounded him had been tamed, remaining only as a static buzz that pulled the corners of his lips up with a mischevious glint. It must be true that this boy is an embodiment of the wistful facets of springtime, since the closer those lips came, the more Hansol was startlingly aware that the dusty pink that tinted them was akin to that of the flowers his coveted butterflies rested upon. Their arrival came with a whisper soft landing, just as delicate and satin smooth as they looked- an admittedly startling gesture given his boisterous temperament. When he pulled back, the exuberance crashed back into play at full force- a crooked wink and a whooping exclamation working as the segue that returned him to his common state of endearing borderline insanity. 

The flutter of a butterfly is made spellbinding by its brevity. Each grace is fleeting, enchanting on account of its unpredictability. The same could be said of Byungjoo's kiss: rare and miraculously divine. Hansol found that his lips were left with a flush of foreign sweetness every time he was granted the soft touch. It reminded him why he held such strong affectation for those springtime dancers- their flowing oscillation was the ideal representation of his spastic best friend.


End file.
